


The Root of the Matter

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, John envied as well as admired Sherlock's ability to see everything. Then he looked deeper. Written for JWP #5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Root of the Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Introspective meanderings. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.

  
JWP #5: **[Picture prompt](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1072529.html)**

 

In the first days of their acquaintance, John experienced a touch of envy along with all his admiration of Sherlock Holmes. What must it be like, to see as he did? John was no stranger to observation and diagnosis; to look at the various bodily clues and from them, determine the underlying cause. But all his medically-trained skills were nothing compared to Sherlock, who seemed to merely glance at a person or an object and yet somehow know everything about them. A simple look at John, and Sherlock knew he was a doctor, a soldier recently returned from war, and half-a-dozen things about him. A mere glance at a piano, and Sherlock could undoubtedly tell you the habits of its player, the origin of the varnish, and probably the tree it came from (if he hadn’t deleted trees from his mind-palace, that is).  
  
It didn’t take John very long to lose that bit of envy, though. He saw easily enough how it set Sherlock apart. How all those details shouted at him; how frustrated and perplexed he was, that others (like John) were apparently unable to see and understand all that he himself did. In a very real way, Sherlock was stuck on a planet where everything spoke to him one way, and spoke entirely differently to everyone else. He was the only speaker of his language. No wonder that for all his fearsome intelligence, Sherlock had occasional trouble communicating with everyone else in a way that didn’t irritate both parties. True, some of it was that Sherlock was an utter prat; but how much of that was because he was forever a stranger in a strange land?  
  
Well, almost. There was one other person who saw the world as Sherlock did; who spoke the same language of incredible detail and connection. Used the knowledge for other ends, but was equally alienated from the world and everyone in it, if in a different way. Mycroft. So it was no wonder to John that despite the very real antipathy between the brothers, there was just as much need. As much as he infuriated John (and he did, frequently), John never doubted Mycroft when he said he worried about his brother. Nor did John entirely believe Sherlock’s frequent expressions of scorn and near-tantrums when it came to his elder brother.  Sherlock resented Mycroft, without question; but whenever the two were together, the tense irritation in Sherlock’s posture was often balanced by a slight lessening of the lines around his eyes and the furrows in his brow. They exchanged few words, usually cutting ones, but unlike any other conversation Sherlock had with anyone else, he didn’t _need_ more words to be understood.  They might not like what the other had to say, but they understood each other when they said it, a shorthand and complex language they shared with no one else.  
  
No, John never doubted that Mycroft worried about Sherlock, or that Sherlock cared for Mycroft in his own strange way in return. For as cut off from the world of ordinary people as they seemed now, there was always one other who could see as they did.  
  
How much worse would it be, to be the _only_ one in the world who could see the tree in the piano, the war in the man?


End file.
